Where there's a Spy there's a Way
by dares to dream
Summary: Cammie and Zach have gone off the grid, but they know the Circle lurks nearby. One wrong move could reveal them, but one right move could reveal the answers they so desperately seek.
1. Report Entry 1

**This is both my first time writing in the Gallagher Girl universe, as well as trying out a different kind of writing style. For a bit of fun I've decided to try my hand at imitating Ally Carter's style, since this is her series and all. Of course this is probably going to be a poor imitation...but hey, at least you all know it is me not her who is writing. No creepy spy things going on here. :)**

**So the story behind my random venture into this part of fanfiction is simply that I finished GG4 (very quickly) and was both satisfied and not. Carter has become quite the Moffat. (shout out to all you Whovians out there. haha.) She gave us a wonderful book but little to no answers. And I was freaking out yesterday...thinking that that was the last book in the series. Thus spawned...this. So I hope you all enjoy this story and I would greatly appreciate any feedback!**

**((Disclaimer: I do not own anything of or related to Ally Carter's Gallagher Girl series, nor do I own any inventions patented or not by the CIA, M16, or any other spy agency that may be mentioned in this work. Also...I am not a spy. But then again, can you really trust an author? mwaha.))**

**Spoilers for GG4**

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**Report Entry #1**

My name is McKenna O'Leary. I am 18 years old. I have dark blond hair and blue eyes. I am 5'6''. I live in the U.S., currently residing in an apartment somewhere in the middle of South Dakota. I work at a small bookstore a block away from where I live called "Steve's". I make just enough to pay the rent.

My parents died four years ago in a car crash, and I have no siblings. I have one boyfriend with whom I share my apartment (which is an important distinction from living in the same apartment, just to be clear).

His name is Christopher Bukovinski. He is also 18 years old. He has brown hair (which actually has this awesome shine to it in the sun) and deep brown eyes (note to self: don't get lost in those again). He works at Joe's Hardware, also just down the street from the apartment. His paycheck goes towards food.

His parents live and work in Haiti as missionaries.

Those are all facts.

Those are all you will find about us.

We are living, breathing citizens in a small, safe community. Far away from everything. It is a place where anyone can start anew, and begin a life without the burdens of their past. Where past lies can be forgotten and only the truth can pervade the future.

There's just one problem: we are made up of lies. And without those lies, we have no future.

OoOoO

PROS AND CONS OF BEING ON THE RUN WITH A BOY:

(A list by Cameron Morgan)

PRO: You really get to see the world from a new perspective.

CON: Every new place you go also means a new name, job, etc.

PRO: Boy is totally hot.

CON: Boy still won't tell me a number of things which I continue to pester him about. (I think he just likes being mysterious…)

PRO: You can finally see the world from a normal person (non-spy) perspective.

CON: The above lasts for about a minute before you realize that you are still on the run.

PRO: It would make for a wicked essay in CovOps

CON: You don't have a CovOps class to write an essay for anymore, let alone a school to have classes in. Or friends to go to those classes with. Or family to rant about those classes to. Or a place to truly call home. Or…

Okay. I'll stop myself there.

I miss home.

I miss the Gallagher Girls.

I miss my mother.

I miss being able to be a (relatively) carefree teenager.

Does everyone feel this way when they turn 18? When they finally realize that they have suddenly become legal adults, when they can live on their own, have freedom from their parents and school and then find out that they have more responsibilities than ever before to match and outweigh those freedoms?

Perhaps.

They also haven't been looking over there shoulder constantly (figuratively, of course, actually doing so would violate rule #8 of basic counter-surveillance tactics) desperately hoping that the old woman on the bench wasn't actually a top-notch spy sent out to capture you by the Circle of Cavan (for reasons I STILL don't know).

"Pardon me, Miss?"

I reminded myself that a normal non-spy trained person would jump when surprised out of their thoughts.

"Yes," I smiled at the middle-aged woman in front of me. I'd seen her at the store before, always browsing the cookbooks for a little while before moving towards the fiction section. She always preferred the historicals. "Mrs. Finch, right?"

Her eyes lightened as she smiled. "That would be me. You've been here in New Haven for a few months, haven't you? I've seen you around the park in the morning."

Every morning I've been running, changing the route every now and then, rarely going the same way twice. Some habits are harder than others to break, I suppose. Few people are about at the time I'm usually up. It makes it much easier to keep in shape when no one is about. Somehow having half the town see a new resident flipping frontwards and backwards, doing moves even Chuck Norris would envy, didn't seem like a pleasant experience

It took three months for me to finally be 'allowed' to train on my own like that. Four months until my over-protective (but realistic) house-mate finally conceded that being by my side at every second was not necessary and a bit suspicious looking in fact. His defeat was not because he thought it wasn't needed, but because it had caused two of the three moves we'd had at the time.

Since then we'd only had to move once.

And it wasn't because our enemies almost caught sight of us, but our friends. Well, my friend Macey McHenry to be specific. I don't know why she was in Oklahoma, I might never know. I hope I do…

Anyway, I knew her when I went to the Gallagher Academy. She was one of my close friends, a tight-nit group which included two other girls, Bex Baxter and Liz Sutton.

I haven't seen them in so long. It's for their own safety, at least that's what I keep telling myself.

"I've taken to walking each morning; it makes the rest of the day seem so much brighter." Mrs. Finch was speaking again; her voice a sweet and happy tune. It sounded so much like my mother's.

I nodded to her, smiling some more, if not a bit sadly. "I agree completely. There's nothing like a bit of exercise in the crisp morning air. Do you have anything in specific you are looking for today?"

The older woman's black curls shook. "Not this time, no. I'm just browsing this time. I always love the selection here." She paused for a moment. "Actually, there is a book I heard about from a friend. It isn't exactly new, but it sounded interesting."

"All right, what's the title and I'll go see if we have it." Although it was a small book store, nothing like the chains around the country, I had to admit that the manager always seemed to pick a great selection. There were few books we have to donate to the library or local kids-hope charity because they always happen to sell.

Mrs. Finch chewed on her lip briefly. A small part of me recalled a lecture my Human Movements teacher gave in sixth grade. Chewing the bottom lip most often is a sign of nervousness or uncertainty. Chewing the upper lip is either anger or confusion. She fell in to the first category.

"I don't recall the name actually, but it was a non-fiction." She glanced into the distance, thinking. "Something about a history of women in the Civil War."

"Well, it should be in one of the back sections if we have it. I'll go check." I said as I walked towards the rear end of the store. It was a shame so few people went to look in the non-fiction section, Liz would have severely disapproved at how little people valued histories.

I scanned the section where the Civil War books were shelved. Most were about Lincoln, some about the politics at the time, others about cotton and the difference in North and South economies. Towards the end there was a book that caught my eye. _The Sectional Rift: A Story through the Eyes of American Women._

I pulled it out and quickly flipped to the table of contents. It certainly sounded like what Mrs. Finch was looking for.

On a whim I flipped through the pages. There was a section on Rose Greenhow and her services to the Confederates. I chuckled softly to the pages which told of her death when her boat capsized. (In truth, she continued to work for a resurgent group determined to bring back the Confederacy after the War. They failed, but their spy work was something to be admired even two hundred years later.)

The air around me turned solid and the beating of my heart seemed to stop as I saw the page that followed.

On it was a picture of a sword, a very familiar sword, one which I saw nearly every day for 12 years. It was Gillian's sword, or rather, Cavan's.

My finger skimmed the small image as my eyes moved across the words below. It was barely more than a blip about a woman named Gillian Gallagher and the legend surrounding her about how she 'supposedly' saved Lincoln's life sometime during the War. No mention of how, who, when, or what her legacy was.

I placed the book to the side and brought the book next on the shelf nearer. If one book had something about Gillian, maybe another had more. I didn't actually believe that of course, but heck, a girl's got to try.

Luck does funny things sometimes.

The next book was about gangs during the Civil War era. It mentioned Gillian. Once. When it spoke about Ioseph Cavan and his group which mysteriously disappeared after a ball he was at one night, the same date Gilly foiled his plot to assassinate President Lincoln. The beginning of this strange feud.

I could see Mrs. Finch beginning to get impatient at the counter, so I picked up her own book and brought back to the counter where her joy filled face thanked me over and over.

The other book I placed under the counter, near my purse. Hope is a strange thing, but it came to me then, as I hoped that there would be something more in that book about the Circle and their mission.

And maybe more about Gillian? Maybe even something about Gallagher Academy?

The little bell on the door dinged as she exited, but I barely heard it. I missed my friends and my school. But how could I go back without putting them in danger? So much more than I would be in myself. I need to find the answers. We've been delaying it for so long, trying to fit in, to master our legends.

I must find out why the Circle of Cavan needs me so desperately.

I must… A Gallagher Girl never gives up fighting. This waiting is so tedious, but I cannot give up. I will not. But it is so easy to just become a part of this little town, barely on the map. This comfortable life without danger, without traitors…without being a spy.

Apparently I was so immersed in my thoughts that I hadn't heard the bell ring again as someone else entered into the store. Strike 1 for Cammie. Lesson #1 when being a spy: never, ever, forget to be aware of your surroundings.

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**Please Review! I would love to hear your feedback on the start of the story! I have the next two chapters completed so far, but beyond that...the plot is subject to change. :) Your feedback will probably effect where this story goes, so review! **

**And please, use constructive criticism. Flames are just irritating. And will tick me off. Seriously. You think Bex is scary when she's angry? Ha.**

****edit: change in one of the beginning paragraphs. Thanks to FieraMare for the help! (see constructive criticism is noticed AND welcomed!)**


	2. Report Entry 2

**Well, here is the second chapter. :) A HUGE thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, I only wish there was a way to give you all cookies. To all those who favorited/alerted the story, another big thanks! Although reviews are better, sometimes it is best to take what you can get when it's given. Thank you all! **

**The third chapter is not completed just yet, so don't be expecting it to come out as quickly as this one. I'm human, you're human (I hope), thus we all know we get busy. And we also all know that 'getting busy', usually means we either were actually super busy, or were fairly busy but could have squeezed in writing if we tried...but didn't. :)**

**((Disclaimer: From here-on-out, please refer to the first chapter. People forget sooner if it is repeated anyway.))**

**Enjoy**

OoOoO

**Report Entry #2**

Glancing up I noticed it was just Mr. Harrod, who lived in a small house at the edge of town. I was lucky, I told myself. What if that had been one of the Circle? Or worse, my mother. (Actually, I wonder what _would_ be worse…facing some Circle baddies, or a very angry mom…huh…this could use some more thought.)

Anyway, Mr. Harrod came into the store often enough, he didn't seem to have a particular interest in books. They ranged anywhere from the History of Rock Climbing to Modern Day tips for the Average Homeowner. He never stopped to chat however, and always taps his fingers on the desk (which can be very irritating) as if he had somewhere better to be (which we all know he doesn't since no one has anywhere super important to be in this town).

Truthfully, I didn't like him. Sure, he was nice enough when he finally got around to speaking. But he just…blended. I mean, I know I blend in. Heck, I'm the chameleon, it's basically written in my genes. It is just way more interesting to be around people who stick out, they're way more exciting.

So note to self: if you always blend in and rarely speak, people probably won't want to hang out around you. That actually might explain some of the friend(less) issues I had in second grade…oh well.

I stared (quite blatantly actually) at Mr. Harrod as he walked around the store, glancing at books here and there. I memorized all the books he picked up and put down. I didn't mean to, but some things you just can't stop. Especially when you are bored…and homesick…and bored. Did I mention bored?

Again, they had nothing in common, and about nothing wholly notable. Boy does he have random tastes in books.

A few minutes later I heard is voice coming from the back of the store, right where I had been earlier, in the Civil War section.

"Ma'am, excuse me, but do you have a book called _Civil War Gangs_ in stock?"

I used the time it took for me to get from the register to the back of the room to think out what I was going to say. It wasn't much time, but I'm a quick thinker.

I could tell him we do have it. (It is just inside my purse)

I could tell him we don't. (And have it be his own problem)

Or I could tell him we don't and ask him what interests him about it. (Maybe another book can substitute for it? …Who am I kidding, I'm just curious.)

Needless to say, I chose option three.

He looked very disappointed. "Just something I heard on…the History Channel and wanted to find more about."

I wasn't about to let him off that easily. "Oh, well what is it. Maybe I can help you find another book about it?"

He did the annoying finger-tappy thing on his leg. "Um…a man called Ioseph Cavan? There isn't much about him really, but I suppose that makes it more fun to find out, right?" He gave a toothy grin, and I found it challenging to smile back.

"I'm sorry, I've never heard of him either. If you find any books about him though, would you mind telling me? I'm sort of a history buff, and maybe this guy might be interesting." So I lied, who's counting anymore?

He left, obviously frustrated, but he agreed to bring in any books he finds on Cavan.

I watched him as he left the store and, for the first time, noticed how he moved. The smoothness of his step, how he made no sound as his foot fell, and how he didn't even flinch when a car almost ran up on the curve right in front of him.

His movements reminded me of my own. Of Zach's. Of just about everyone I have ever known's.

My hand went into my purse and pulled out, not the book, but a piece of paper. Sitting in my small chair I stared at the page with its torn edge, taken from Mrs. Finch's book before handing it to her.

I barely noticed the wet spots appearing on the picture of the Sword.

OoOoO

I went through the rest of the day like I had every other day since moving to New Haven.

I breathed, I ate, I worked. But somehow I didn't feel like I was living.

My walk back to the apartment that night was a slow one. No spring in my step, no soft humming. I was in a daze.

Of course I still counted the number of cars which passed by (5), including their color and make. I still counted how many people were wearing very suspicious ball caps (7). And I still counted how many times I had to avoid dog poop as I cross through the park (11).

No matter how much I seemed normal to the outside world, I would always be a spy at heart.

But this spy really misses not being normal.

OoOoO

**Please review. I try my hardest to respond to each one, because you all deserve that extra thanks. **

**(btw: I am really sorry if random Doctor Who things or historical facts or latin words or HP stuff pops up in my story. Those things basically comprise me and I dont even know they come out...so yeah...I apologize in advance.)**


	3. Report Entry 3

**This is more of an in-between chapter as my head tries to sort out some details of what is coming next. Details being a very general term. I've decided to not really form a plotline to go along...I seem to finish the stories I don't make a plot line for and never update those that do. Strange... **

**Anyway, thanks again to everyone who reviewed/favorited/alerted this story/me! :)**

**to _znzz _and _purple _: I couldnt reply to your reviews because you didnt have a log in thing, but thank you both! Each review means more than you know! Unless you're a fanfic writer...then you probably do. haha.**

**So yeah...I'm not to crazy about this chapter. Something about it just...bleh. Doesn't sound right to me. Maybe it's because nothing happens..probably. Who knows? I obviously don't. :p**

**OoOoO**

**Report Entry #3**

Zach walked in about 5 minutes after me (4 minutes, 49 seconds, and 2 milliseconds to be exact).

He was tired. The hardware shop was hard work, but it provided us a simple way to obtain various ropes, tools, and mechanisms should we ever require them.

I was sitting at the table, fiddling with spoon that one of us forgot to put in the washer after breakfast.

"How long will this go on?" He plopped down onto the chair next to me, sighing at my words.

"You asked that last week. Twice."

"Chris," (we had decided during the first week of our…experience, to use only our fake names in case somehow someone bugged the home.) "this is rubbing you thin too, I can see it."

We had gone into this thinking we would go into hiding, but attempt to discover more information about the Circle while we were at it. And we have, but with too little success.

I continued. "I made a promise to them; that I'd come back with answers. That we'd only spend the summer searching. It has been a year. We have no answers, not even a hint. We are so far off the grid that we can't even figure out what people _on_ the grid are up to!"

Sometime during my rant I stood up. Zach seemed so small, so…hopeless, sitting so far below me.

I slowly sank back down into the chair guiltily. "I'm sorry."

A sad smile crossed his lips. "Why? I'm thinking it too. I just have had the luck to not snap, yet."

It was silent in the apartment, a not quite comfortable one, and only interrupted by the sound of a toilet flushing somewhere else in the complex.

The former Blackthorn Boy and my (sort-of) boyfriend spoke first. "We are in the middle of nowhere…"

"…with strong covers and steady jobs." I continued.

"There's no reason to suspect McKenna O'Leary and Chris Bukovinski of not being who we say we are…"

"…and the people in town have come to trust the both of them."

I showed a grin that, to those who may not know me well enough, probably seemed a bit predatory. "There are agents hidden everywhere…"

"…they could even be here. And if we are getting bored with this monotony…"

"…imagine how hard it must be for someone in the Circle, knowing that there are others out doing something to help their cause."

Zach leaned closer over the table. "Someone who would be stationed here would not have been in their leader's good graces. He would probably be pretty disgruntled, and that much more willing to go against those who put him here. This place would be like exile"

It was the most either of us had spoken in weeks, as if a new life had found its way to us. Thank god.

I smiled at the boy across from me. (Could I even call him a 'boy' anymore? 'Man'? That doesn't sound right either…I'll just stick with 'Zach' for now.)

"I think we should begin to keep a closer eye on Mr. Harrod."

OoOoO

I awoke the next morning feeling more refreshed than I had in months (even though I only actually slept for about 4 hours). It is so easy, too easy, to forget who you are when you are trying to be someone else. Who knew being a chameleon could be so engulfing?

I was alone in the apartment, Zach having left earlier to go to the hardware store.

His shift doesn't start for another two hours.

**Covert Operations Report:**

_Operatives Morgan and Goode, after spending many hours discussing various courses of action, finally decided on one._

_It's not really much of a plan. (but hey, it's a start)._

_Operative Morgan's previously established contact with the Mr. Harrod (hereafter referred to as the Target) will be used to their advantage. Operative Morgan will continue to 'pretend' to be curious in Ioseph Cavan and earn the Target's trust in their research endeavor. _

_Operative Goode meanwhile, will be obtaining the materials necessary to set up visual devices around the Target's residence. _

_Both Operatives decided that sleep was more important, and what happened next would depend on if the Target actually decides to trust Operative Morgan. _

_Both agreed to keep a closer eye on all citizens of the local community, while also listening to news reports across the world in hopes of finding anything that stinks of the Circle._

OoOoO

I paid attention to everything on my run that morning. The direction of the wind, which happened to be a northwesterly direction, the people I came across, (3…and squirrel that I could have sworn was a person), and the exact route I took.

I had a headache by the end.

I never used to get headaches when memorizing everything.

Is this what it is like for most people? Ick. I really need to get back into the groove of things.

Anyway, after taking a cold shower and making a fresh pot of coffee (with hot chocolate mixed in of course, otherwise it's just gross), my headache was just a memory and I was ready for work.

I just wish I had remembered to take the book about Civil War gangs out of my purse; it would have saved me a lot of trouble later on.

**OoOoO**

**Thanks for reading, please review!**

_Sick of summer and this waiting around. It's like we're sitting in the lost and found. Don't take no sorcery for anyone to see how..._


	4. Report Entry 4

Sorry this is so late everyone! I usually hate excuses, but I have two and the second one might inspire some smiles. 1) I was out of town an insane amount. 2) I got back in town and had to watch A Very Potter Sequel. 'Had' being there because I literally had no choice. I'm an addicted HP fan and not watching it would be like not breathing.

So yes. There you have it: my excuses. Now for the chapter... I kinda got carried away with some points in here. Literally. I actually had a direction that the story was going to go in, but then I started writing and it all went to Hades from there. Well, more like Elysium, not Tartarus or anything, because I kinda like the new direction. But I missed the old direction, so they're merging. Ha.

Huge thanks to everyone who put up with my lateness (but didn't threaten me, which was a tad bit disappointing) and to everyone who reviewed, fav'd, or altert'd me/the story!

OoOoO

**Report Entry #4**

It was a Wednesday.

I hated Wednesdays.

The day in the middle of the week where you have nothing to look back on but work, and nothing to look forward to but work. It's really quite depressing. And boring. No one comes into the shop on a Wednesday.

Now, don't ask me why that is. Personally, I think more people should buy books on a day where you just need to escape reality. But New Haven-ers apparently don't think like an 18 year old young woman trained in the arts of spy-dom.

#1 thing to do when working at a bookstore when no one else is around (and after all security cameras have been averted): raid the soda machine, plop down in a chair, and read.

Today I chose a can of Cherry Coke and made my way towards the Science Fiction section. Sure, you might be thinking it would be a better idea for me to ravage all the possible historical novels that could be in any way shape or form related to the Circle, but where's the fun in taking the direct path? So many of those history books are so focused on the detail and straight, proven facts that they fail to tell the truth.

There's a difference between the truth and facts, you know.

You can spin whatever tale you'd like using a bunch of facts, but would that tale be the truth? Nope. Sometimes the truth involves facts that shouldn't be. Fact's that true historians deem 'rumors' or 'old wive's tales'. Anyone who writes about those have those books placed in the one section where only crazies would believe them. Science Fiction.

All legends and myths begin with some sort of truth. If I'm going to find out more about Ioseph Cavan and what eventually became the terrorist organization we all know and love, I need to look beyond the facts.

After all, the facts say that Zach and I are Chris and McKenna.

I began looking at authors known for plots involving the end of the world. Might as well start big, who knew, I might get lucky?

Forty minutes later, it was clear the Goddess Fortuna was not looking positively on me. I'd found nothing. Zip. Nada. Zero.

Great. And I'd finished my coke 15 minutes before.

After seriously wanting to bang my head on the bookshelf, I went to through away the dry can.

I was just coming around the shelves of the mystery section when an arm wrapped around me. My first instinct, naturally, was to flip the assailant using a key twist we learned in P&E.

I didn't stop myself, even though I recognized the sweet, almost like peppermint, scent about the person. At that point I figured he deserved it.

"Chris!" I whirled around, admonishing, being sure to keep my voice low. "What in the name of Bond do you think you're doing?"

A cheeky smile grinned up from the floor. "Checking on my Gallagher Girl, of course," he whispered as he pulled himself up. It must have been a successful morning at work for him, enough so to forget (or more likely, just ignore…Zach doesn't usually forget things easily) our legends and call me that.

It really has been too long.

"There's no need for that, _Christopher_." Seeing his slightly hurt look I couldn't help but to add, "though it is welcome."

I put the coke can next to a brightly colored novel and helped him to his feet.

I knew I should have told him off for breaking cover like that. That anyone could be listening or watching us. That he could have just cost us our lives.

But god, who could yell at those eyes?

I'm so pathetic.

OoOoO

Not long later we were both seated in a pair of comfy bean bags near the front of the shop.

We'd gone through the Civil War gangs book together, having poured over each page. It helped that we were both speed readers, but it would've been nice to have Liz's swift eyes.

In the end, there were only two things of significance that we learned.

1. the Circle of Cavan did indeed begin as a small town (very "unremarkable") gang that seemed to vanish on April 6th, 1865. Coincidentally, a week before Lincoln's assassination.

I couldn't help but think of Nancy Drew, she was smart to not believe in coincidences. It saved her life a couple of times. It's a shame she disappeared in the 50's. CIA reports about her are strangely vague about that. What? You didn't think she was a fictional character, did you? Like I said, there's always a bit of truth to every story.

2. Some of the most notorious gangs of the era began to mysteriously fade away after the Circle vanished. Some believed it was because men were tired of the fighting brought upon by the War. The author apparently was part of the 'some'.

We had a starting point, I suppose. The elusive Circle we know today seemed to have its treacherous beginnings in the Spring of 1865. The same time Gilly founded Gallagher Academy.

Did Gillian create my school to train spies, or did she create it to build a kind of army against the Ioseph, with whom there was tangible enmity. So tangible it became the (nearly) impenetrable fortress of Gallagher Academy?

Does it matter?

Whether she created it because of her hatred for Cavan or because she wanted to train women for the good of her country, it became what it became.

But if she did found it as a way to move against him, wouldn't she have had to have more intelligence about Cavan? Intelligence she couldn't risk having destroyed if she wanted the coming generations to continue her struggle? Information she could only trust in the safest of holds? A stronghold she created herself?

Could it be that Gilly had documents about the Circle that we never knew about? Could it be that they were so close for 11 years of my life?

Zach had gotten up to leave sometime during my thoughts, with a promise that he'd be waiting with dinner when I got back ho…to the apartment.

The thought of food cheered me a small bit.

Why was it that the possibility of returning to Gallagher Academy made my heart beat faster and my fingers to twist? Why on earth was I nervous about returning to my real home, to where my mother was still Headmistress, and where my friends most likely were?

Probably because I wouldn't be able to see them. The chance of discovering Gillian's information would only be a battle won. There's still a war between myself and the Circle. Knowing why it is going on just will mean we have an advantage. And that's the mission of a spy. To help gain any advantage.

In my rush to leave the store, or perhaps the fact that my mind was filled with memories of tunnels within the Academy's stone walls, I made a mistake no one enjoys making. Forgetting to look where you're going.

Before I knew it, my butt was aching against the concrete, my purse and all its contents were scattered, and I was looking up into the wide blue eyes of Mr. Harrod.

OoOoO

**Did I mention that I have a...love...for cliffhangers? Not when I am reading something, of course, but they are so much fun to write. They're usually unintentional too, actually. **

**Shout out of the update: Anyone watch Covert Affairs? Well, every once in a while I see the main girl and Auggie as being older Cammie and Zachs. I quite like Auggie. The part that really made me laugh was the fact that one of the actor's names is Peter Gallagher...and it's a show about the CIA. ooooo. haha. **

**"Red Vines, what the hell can't they do?" ;)**


	5. Report Entry 5

**Sorry this took so long! xc camp sprang upon me sooner than I'd anticipated. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, alerted, favorited, etc!**

**This isn't one of my favorite chapters...it just felt off to me. I think I'm beginning to forget Ally's style of writing. I'll probably have to go back and re-read a book or two. haha. Torture. ;)**

**OoOoO**

**Report Entry #5**

This is one of those times when I am really glad there wasn't a mirror in front of me.

I'm certain I looked like a fish.

I really don't like fish that much.

"Mr. Harrod!" I scrambled to get up. "I am so, so sorry! I should have been—"

I was cut off by his own apologies.

"—It's no matter, Miss O'Leary. My bad, all the way. I was looking down at my phone and didn't even realize where I had stumbled." He held a hand to pick me up, and I took it graciously.

I, of course, took that moment to slip a small bug onto the flap of his sleeve. What? Zach had dropped off a few while at the bookstore. I couldn't miss such a useful opportunity now, could I?

I could barely say 'thanks' before he began picking up the scattered junk from my purse. Thankfully nothing too incriminating had been thrown about; at least, nothing that wasn't disguised as something average. I was pretty sure I had a set of lock picks in there encased in makeup brushes.

When everything was finally off the ground, I thanked Mr. Harrod once more. He merely smiled at me in return.

"It was nice talking to you again, Miss O'Leary, although I wish it had been under better circumstances." He shrugged a backpack from one shoulder to the other. Strange, I didn't think he usually carried around backpacks. Maybe he just wanted a man-purse.

"Out of curiosity," he spoke, still smiling, "have you learned anything new concerning Ioseph? I checked the local library, but there's nothing."

Was it just me, or was his smile beginning to seem forced? Oh well, I knew mine was.

Perhaps it was the evening air, or the fact that I was still craving some adrenaline, that I risked what I said next.

"Nothing important really, just a skimpy mention about some old rivalry he had or something. A woman called…Gallahan? No…Gallagher. Yeah, it mentioned something about a rumor of a sword and an assassination plot, but it was just a little side-note. "

Poets like to say that the eyes are a portal into one's soul. If that's true, Mr. Harrod's soul must be quite nonexistent. There was not even a spark of recognition in his eyes at the mention of Gilly.

Of course, I'm a spy, not a poet. And spies know other signs to look for.

Like how hs right fist clenched.

And how his breathing suddenly deepened, like he was trying to control it.

And let's not forget how he not-so-subtly looked at his watch and dashed off.

So there I was, standing in the middle of an alleyway with my purse and all it's jumbled contents hanging on my arm, absolutely certain now that Mr. Harrod was, or at least had been, a spy. Only spies know the story about the assassination, it was never leaked. (We made sure of that. More importantly, only Gallagher Girls knew of it. But most of all, the Circle new about it.

Cammie: 1

Mr. Harrod: Zip.

Guess who just blew his cover? (And yes, I did hum that inside my head for the next two blocks.)

As I was waiting to cross the street across from the apartment, I riffled through my purse for the key needed to access the mailbox settled just outside the building. Zach always forgot to get the mail, leaving it to me to travel down all the steps and retrieve it. At least this time I could get it before going up the steps.

The cross walk changed to show the little figure of a walking person, but I was standing still.

Everything in my purse was compact and easy to sift through, exactly the way a woman's purse should be for convenience reasons.

But if everything was so small…then where was the Civil War book?

Five more minutes of desperately hoping I was just too tired to notice my hand bumping against the hard cover, I gave up.

My mind flashed back to Mr. Harrod's backpack. To his insistence in helping me pick up my collection of junk.

Oh, he was good.

So simple, but yet so effective. Now he had the book.

Grumbling to myself, I stomped up the steps to the apartment. I couldn't tell if I was angry that he had the book, or that I'd fallen for the trap.

Probably the latter. After all, what more could the book have that Zach and I hadn't already discovered. And I had bugged him in the course of his mission.

The aroma of dinner as I opened the door seemed to move my brain into clarity however, awakening a new train thought.

Why did he want that book so terribly? There was nothing of importance in there.

Unless there was… and Zach and I, dumb as we had been, were simply reading the words as they came.

What if there was a code?

As I stepped into the kitchen, Zach looked a tad bit frightened. No doubt because of the grin that had worked its way onto my face at that point.

"Everything all right?" He asked, wariness distinct in his voice.

My grin widened. "We have some answers and some questions. Mr. Harrod stole the book from me. Mr. Harrod desperately wanted it. Why? It's definitive that he's part of the Circle, and nothing in there would be of much use to him."

Luckily, for the time being, he refrained from asking how the book came into Mr. Harrod's possession. His genius IQ mind instead sped to catch up, looking at all reasons and possibilities in the matter of seconds.

"The old spy trick…coding within a published text…" his voice trailed off. "No wonder you were grinning like that." Ah. He really does catch on fast, no wonder I love him.

"If Mr. Harrod wants to play spy, then so will we. But with so much more finesse." I plopped down into one of the chairs.

Zach chuckled, and his brown eyes sparkled. I knew he was planning, just as I was. We'd have a very intriguing dinner topic tonight. "I'll look up the map of his house tonight, after dinner. We can find the best entry point from there."

Finally. One of my favorite parts of being a spy, and one of the most important lessons learned in cov-ops: I.E.G. Infiltration of Enemy Grounds.

This was going to be fun.

**OoOoO**

**Yeah...definitely didn't like this chapter. Ick. Oh well. Please review! **

**This chapter's shout out goes to all you Cross Country runners out there! :D**


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